


Petrichor

by stevegrogers



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3564881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevegrogers/pseuds/stevegrogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't imagine being without you."</p><p>"You'll never have to."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Petrichor," Stiles says randomly. They're laying on Scott's bed with the windows open, and Stiles can smell that it's about to rain. It's a dense, almost sweet smell, one of his favorites, right up there with freshly baked cookies and Scott's cologne. (That's not weird, right? That Scott's cologne is one of his favorite scents?)

 

"What?" Scott asks, lifting his head to look over at Stiles. Stiles' stomach tightens. He can feel Scott's eyes on him.

 

"The smell. You know, when it smells like rain?"

 

"What about it?"

 

"It's called petrichor."

 

"Okay."

 

Stiles feels awkward. Lately, there have been gaps in their conversations. Awkward pauses. This isn't normal – not for them. Scott and Stiles are always fluid, always on the same page...but not lately. Things are...wrong. They're wrong, and Stiles is almost sure that he's done something. It's not just that their relationship is weird, either. Scott has been acting weird, too, freezing Stiles out completely at times. He just blows Stiles off, not calling him back, ignoring his texts. So, yeah, who can blame Stiles for thinking it's his fault?

 

Scott bites his lip. He knows Stiles can tell something is up – and something is – but he can't tell him. It kills him that he can't tell him, and it's affecting their friendship. An apology dances on the tip of Scott's tongue, but he swallows it back. He can't do it. Not today.

 

"Just fucking say it," Stiles blurts. The heavy silence is smothering him, and he can feel Scott's eyes piercing into the side of his face. "Please, Scott." Scott is speechless. He really doesn't want to do this now – this isn't right. Plus it's started to rain, and petrichor is heavy and dense in the room now. He can almost taste it on his tongue. No, this is wrong. He can't lose Stiles tonight.

 

 

"Say what?"

 

"Whatever it is you want to fucking say!" Stiles' voice is high pitched and whiny, but he's scared. He's scared, because Scott is hiding something from him, and whatever it is, it must be bad. It must be, because Scott tells Stiles everything.

 

"I..." Fuck. "I can't, Stiles."

 

"Why the fuck not?" Stiles has gone from being worried to being angry. "You never keep secrets from me, Scott! Tell me what's going–" Suddenly he goes pale, and Scott sits up frantically, because the transition happened too quickly to have been healthy. "Are you sick, Scott? Are you dying!? Oh, God. Jesus, fuck. You're fucking dying." And then Stiles can't breathe. The thought of a world without Scott scares the shit out of him, and his breath comes in wheezing, dry pants, and he's having a panic attack.

 

As soon as Stiles starts wheezing, Scott moves in close. He's dealt with what must be hundreds of Stiles' panic attacks, and they barely faze him anymore. He just moves. It's automatic.

 

"Stiles," he says gently, cupping his best friend's face in his hands. The fact that Scott is that close to him isn't exactly helping the breathing situation, but Scott just says, "Shhh, breathe," in a soft voice, and, yeah, Stiles is definitely in love with Scott. Scott slows his breathing and tells Stiles to breathe at the exact same time as him. Soon Stiles is able to breathe normally again, and manages a lazy half smile.

 

"Sorry," he says, still a bit out of breath.

 

"Don't be," Scott says, and he means it. There's nothing to be sorry for. 

 

"Please tell me," Stiles says in a weak voice, because whatever it is, he wants to know. He's sure he can handle it. Even if it's that Scott has somehow found out that he's in love with him and is disgusted with him, knowing that would be better than sitting around worried. 

 

Scott stares at Stiles. Not in the eyes – he can't manage any intense eye contact, not while he's about to say what he's about to say – so he stares at the tiny parenthesis at the corner of Stiles' lips, right where his smile begins. He stares at the tiny smile line, and he realizes that he really wants to press a kiss there. He wants to press a kiss everywhere, really, but especially there, right at the soft part of Stiles' cheek.

 

And with that thought in his head, he says it. "I'm in love with you." He feels like he didn't even say it, like he's watching a film or something, but Stiles' entire body stiffens, and Scott knows. Scott knows it's the end of an era, the end of everything, and he holds his breath so that his heart doesn't break right away.

 

"What?" Stiles manages after a minute, because his head is swimming with thoughts of Scott touching and kissing him the way he's wanted him to for so long, and honestly, he feels a bit dizzy. 

 

"I...I can't fucking say it again, Stiles, you heard me."

 

Stiles squints at Scott. "Am I being Punk'd?"

 

That stops Scott. "What?"

 

"Am I being Punk'd? You know, the show with Ashton Kutcher? Like, are you joking?" Stiles studies Scott's face, but he doesn't see any laughter in Scott's eyes. "You're serious? I'm not being Punk'd?"

 

Scott fights the urge to roll his eyes. Typical Stiles. "No, Stiles, I'm serious."

 

Stiles pauses. It's hard to breathe again.

 

"I...Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have done this, I knew it was wrong, but I –" He's caught out by Stiles' mouth on his. Suddenly he has a lapful of Stiles, and he's mesmerized by the way Stiles tastes. Scott squeezes at Stiles' waist and Stiles laughs into the kiss, teeth colliding with Scott's messily, and he's so damn happy. He's so happy that Stiles is okay with this and he's so happy that their mouths fit together perfectly. He's so happy that he licks at Stiles' bottom lip and bites at it, and Stiles whines into his mouth. 

 

"I love you, too," Stiles whispers, hands clutching at the collar of Scott's t-shirt, thighs squeezing at Scott's hips.

 

"Good," Scott grins, and starts kissing down Stiles' neck. Stiles whimpers as Scott sucks a mark right above his collarbone, making it perfectly purple-ish.

 

"Asshole," Stiles gasps breathlessly, craning his neck at an odd angle to look at it. "Everyone's gonna be able to see that!"

 

"Good," Scott grins again, squeezing at Stiles' ass with both hands. Stiles moans, surprised, and then glares at Scott. Then his gaze softens, and Scott softens, too, perfectly in tune with Stiles.

 

"I can't believe you love me," Stiles says quietly, still sitting in Scott's lap, arms linked around Scott's neck. "It's because I said petrichor, isn't it? It's such a sexy word."

 

Scott's lips curve up into a smile. "Such a fucking turn on."

 

Stiles laughs. "Petrichor."

 

Scott laughs, too. "Petrichor."


	2. If My Heart Was a House, You'd Be Home

Stiles doesn't really know how to act around Scott now. It's just so different. The whole dynamic is different – he's used to laughing with his best friend, watching random TV shows at ridiculous hours of the morning. Could that still happen? Could they still have that carefree relationship? Because now, whenever he is with Scott, all he can do is stare at his lips and think about kissing him.

 

Kissing Scott. They haven't kissed since that day it'd rained, and it's been two weeks since then. Stiles is itching for it, for Scott's large, warm hands on his body, mouths melding in that way that was...well, it was only Scott. It would only  _work_  withScott, and Stiles doesn't want it any other way.

 

Stiles is so damn _awkward_ about it, though – but that's just who Stiles is, awkward. Scott doesn't mind, just finds it endearing (he's dealt with it for so long), and they're sitting down at Scott's kitchen table when Stiles says it.

 

"Can we still, like...you know?" Stiles blurts awkwardly.

 

Scott raises an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to know what that meant?"

 

"Yes," Stiles glares, because, you know, he kind of _is._ Stiles doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to make it awkward, but...damn it, he  _wants_ Scott. His hands shake as he stands up, and he crosses the room so that he's inches away from Scott. He bites his bottom lip, nervous, and Scott moves first, because Stiles honestly doesn't think he can do anything else at this point. That's okay, though, because Scott understands, and he wraps his arms around Stiles' small waist, nuzzling his face into Stiles' neck.

  
"Is this what you wanted?" Scott asks, biting back a smile, because he knows. Scott isn't stupid, and he knows Stiles. How could he not know?

 

"No," Stiles whines, and then yelps when Scott nips at his neck. "Don't, Scott, that tickles!"

 

Scott is smiling then, in that stupid way that he always smiles at Stiles. Only at Stiles, too, his Stiles smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle at the sides and his smile to look genuine. It makes Stiles' stomach flip flop, and he's about to break eye contact when Scott grips Stiles' face in his hands and kisses him. Stiles is overwhelmed all over again at how much Scott makes him feel. It isn't even just about _what_ he's feeling – it's the fact that Scott helps him to feel something. Scott is everything Stiles has ever needed.

 

"Stop being cute," Scott pants when the kiss is broken, eyes roaming over the familiar map that is Stiles' face. Everything there is familiar, the long, dark eyelashes, the moles. Stiles is Scott's home.

 

"I'm always cute," Stiles grins, chest heaving.

 

Scott grins, too. "True." Then he's diving in all over again, going right back to the ocean, and as he's kissing Stiles all he can think about is how the hole in his heart always was Stiles shaped, but he'd never known until right now. And every time he kisses Stiles, that hole is patched up bit by bit, and soon it will be gone. As long as Stiles is here, he'll be okay. "God, Stiles, fucking  _Hell,_ I love you."

 

Stiles laughs then. He tips his head back and laughs, and Scott studies the way the sun from the window kisses the underside of Stiles' jaw. The sunlight sprinkles down and sits in the hollow of Stiles' throat, and when Scott presses his lips there, the skin is warm. 

 

"Scott," Stiles says, tugging at his hair so that Scott'll look at him. Scott pulls back from pressing kisses to Stiles' neck to look at him.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing, I just..." Stiles stares at Scott, and then softens. "This just...this is right. _You,_ you plus me. I...didn't know I was missing this." He smiles shyly after saying that. "I mean. Whatever. Let's, like, eat pizza or something. Pretend I didn't say anything that cheesy."

 

"Stiles," Scott laughs, loving this so much. Loving  _Stiles_ so much. "Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, baby." He runs his thumbs over Stiles' cheeks. "You are a masterpiece of your own kind." And Scott stares at Stiles as if he really is this masterpiece, and Stiles' stomach is turning in knots because nobody's ever looked at him like this.

 

"Whatever, bae," he says, cheeks pinking, and Scott scowls.

 

"Really, Stiles? Bae?"

 

"Maybe I'll call you pumpkin. Or lovemuffin."

 

Scott's scowl deepens, and Stiles is laughing harder than ever. "You're so fucking stupid, Stiles. I'm so incredibly in love with you." Scott kisses him mid-laugh, and he can taste the happiness on Stiles' tongue.

 

"Yeah, whatever," Stiles responds, kissing at Scott's cheeks. "Scott?"

 

"Yeah, bae?" Scott smirks, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

"I love you, too."

 

"I know, Stiles." Scott kisses his forehead.

 

"Okay." Stiles nuzzles his face against Scott's neck. "Good."

 


End file.
